


LOST Part 5 featuring: Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy, Green Day and The Killers

by xxxPrettyOddxxx



Series: LOST [5]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Lost, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Killers
Genre: Gen, Lost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxPrettyOddxxx/pseuds/xxxPrettyOddxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you'd read the first four you'd know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	LOST Part 5 featuring: Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy, Green Day and The Killers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tre Cool](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tre+Cool).



The roof was white. Okay, so that was obvious, but Brendon couldn’t find much else to look at,other than picking up things he shouldn't read.The couch, while comfortable enough, seemed to be the most boring place on the planet, and the appalling music Chris insisted on playing was swimming through his ears again, making it more unbearable. It only took moments for the obnoxious orange room to become unfathomably boring, but he had been here for a few days now. For the first day or so, the sounds of Ronnie’s free flowing bowels were entertaining in a way that was also extremely disturbing. After that, it was just torture to his ears and the catalyst for an array of disturbing images. A water feature would have been preferable.

The button still needed pressing at 108 minute intervals and Brendon hoped each was the last time, he wanted to leave it unpressed, even if it looked like the end of history as we know it, trapped as he was in the room where it all began. Chris insisted on continuing to press it like Pete had instructed. Pete, the man who would be king.That was yet another of Brendon’s problems. Brendon was sick of him being in charge of… Well, in charge of everything.

Pete declared who went where when, or what was done when. He decided who was pressing the button, or if the button was even pressed at all. Pete, with his constant need to save everyone from everything, was self-appointed leader of the island, and Brendon wasn’t impressed. He had also begun to notice empty bottles of gin.

Really, why did everyone trust Pete all of a sudden? He had quickly made a name for himself.Pete had always been the more reckless, irresponsible one, and now he was the most trusted person on the island. It wasn't confidential that Brendon had potential, so why?

Brendon would’ve liked to stage a mutiny, and perhaps it would be better if he did, but with Pete not even around and Brendon unable to get around with any semblance of ease, it wasn’t really in the realm of possibilities right now. He decided the energy he had, as much as it was hard to use, would be better used not pressing the button. He only had to wait for Chris to fall asleep, and then he’d let the timer run out… Maybe he could make Chris fall asleep or suffocate in his elephant head.

He thought that particular idea over, knowing that it wasn’t even a stupid one. There had to be something in the small medicine cabinet that was housed in the storeroom that would put Chris to sleep, and if that failed there was always Pete’s ‘secret’ ativan stash in the bathroom. Although, that would mean braving the sight of Ronnie.

So, Brendon began to plan. He figured it would be for the best if the majority of food was moved from the hatch to somewhere safe. If something were to happen resulting in the end of the hatch, it wouldn’t be appreciated by most that their main food source had been destroyed.  
He still believed that absolutely nothing would happen when he failed to press the button, but he couldn’t take the risk. He decided the easiest way to get the food out was Spencer. He reasoned that Spencer would cart the food out for just a tub of ranch dressing.  
The next was how he would put Chris to sleep. He decided to pull himself up on his crutches, and hobble to the storeroom. Earlier that night he had taken a walk but it wasn't the same. It was certainly painful getting off the couch, but it was all good because he was making some progress, and to his delight he found himself capable of tapping his feet. He finally smiled like he meant it.

There wasn’t a lot in the cabinet besides empty panadol foils and band aids. Brendon knew a lot of this was due to him.  
He had a fetish for medical supplies and at home he was on a first name basis with all the top physicians.  
He decided ativan was the go. He’d need to sneak it into something Chris was going to eat. He’d never been so surreptitious so Chris was sure to be distracted and partially blind if still attached to elephant head.

The most hazardous part of this entire mission would be gaining entry to the bathroom. However, it had to be accomplished so they could get ready to roll onto something new.Two days later, he used his crutches to gain entry via the door of the bathroom, and gulped before knocking reluctantly and willing his dreams to break the boundaries of his fear which was fast becoming a fully fledged phobia.  
“Eh,uh, Ronnie? Can I grab something?” Brendon didn’t usually feel awkward, but Ronnie could make anyone feel self conscious.

“Uhhmm. Okay.” Brendon rolled his eyes and walked in, vaguely wondering if there was a reason for these numbers, and he just hadn't figured it out yet.

The first thing he noticed was the stench. Oh holy crap it was bad. He felt like he was going to choke, and wondered if Patrick had cursed him. He held his nose, and tried not to think of the toxins flooding into his lungs. He moved toward the cupboard above the sink and shook two ativan from a bottle into his hand, rushing and rushing around. Then, he exited the room as fast as possible, considering the disadvantage he was at, and did his best not to notice Ronnie when he encountered him down the line.

He shut the door, and took a deep breath, determined to get the diarrhoea infested air out of his system. He shuddered, he could feel himself suffocating. That was a strange experience. Huh. Moving on now… And hoping to God that no one picks that up on another page. Much like the techno vibe or sins and tradgedies. Again, I digress.

He went to the kitchen, trying to think what to put the pills in. He wondered if Ativan dissolved. If so, coffee. He knew Chris drank copious amounts of it, and if Brendon made him a coffee, he’d most definitely drink it. All he wanted to do was try, everybody needed him.

He decided he’d try it and hope for the best. If it failed, this meant another visit to the bathroom, and well, that would be unpleasant and treacherous.

He boiled some water in the kettle by the fridge, whilst wondering where exactly Chris was throughout the process. He poured it into a blue mug, and hoped for the best as he dropped the tablet into it.

Much to his relief, he could see it shrinking as it’s particles became a part of the water.Had he blinked, he would have missed it. He dropped the second one in, and added the sugar, milk and coffee. He left it there, and retreated to his couch.

“Chris! I left you a coffee on the bench!” He yelled out, hoping Chris would hear him from wherever he was. He'd had it with this game.He was so tired, but he couldn't sleep and it was a bitter form of refuge anyway.He heard footsteps and optimistically hoped this was a positive. He was crossing his fingers, and he’d cross his toes, but optimism had failed him on many an occasion and he felt as though his faith was walking on broken glass.

“Thanks Brendon.” Wasn’t particularly exciting, and may be a line more boring even than the white ceiling, but the emotion, it was electric and the stars, they all aligned. He lay back on the couch and shut his eyes, just waiting for Chris to lay his body down and do the same.  
* * * *  
Billie Joe’s striking green eyes were lined heavily as always, in a strange irridescent gold today due to availability, his attention focused on what he had in his hands. Behind him, clutching his Jesus stick tightly was Crazy Haired Dave. Both carried sticks of dynamite, pulled from the remains of the Black Rock after Ronnie’s ‘death’, which had been especially confronting for Dave who had never really known anybody to die before. They were slowly stalking through the jungle towards the hatch with their volatile cargo.. Crazy haired Dave had … A premonition. Call it desperation but he believed that somehow Brendon was about to achieve his goal of leaving the button to it’s own devices. They moved hesitantly but smoothly hoping to reach the hatch while avoiding ending up like the splattered remains of Ronnie, he was in ruins. Billie Joe doubted that his position as the Jesus of Suburbia would grant him resurrection rights but he never was a quitter.

They opened the metal door, which due to constant use was no longer obscured by vines.  
“I don’t know about this Dave…” Billie Joe spoke quietly, wondering if Dave had any solid idea of what was worth fighting for, when it wasn't worth dying for.

They continued on regardless, walking tenuously down the dark hallways which, on this particular day, seemed darker and more ominous than usual. Billie Joe might have been scared of combusting during this strange mission to stop Brendon, whom he had no real problem with besides the need to ration out eyeliner between them, and the fact that somebody told him that he had a girlfriend who looked like the boyfriend that he had in February of last year, but fear wasn’t an emotion he really displayed, most emotions defaulted to anger through force of habit.However, there were twisted days when he took comfort that he wasn't the only one.

They placed their dynamite against one of the wall like doors that were down, preparing to light it up.

“Brendon, we are going to blow this open. This is your last chance. Open the goddamn door.” Billie yelled, knowing it was probably futile, Brendon liked his doors shut.  
* * * *  
“Brendon, you must think we’re stupid.” Chris said as he walked into the room where Brendon was laying. Shock registered on Brendon’s face, as did the accompanying shock wave whisper.

“Huh?” He groaned in a loud whisper. Shit, for a second there he'd won.

“Ronnie saw you pilfer a few of Pete’s pills, and then, coincidentally, you make me a coffee. You honestly can’t think I’d fall for that.I saw you spike the punch." Chris almost laughed. Brendon looked disgruntled. His game plan had failed dismally and he had no idea what to do now but he believed everything happened for a reason.

“You could help me!” Brendon raised his eyebrow as he said it. "I just can't take this, I swear I told you the truth."

Chris gave Brendon a funny look, like he was insane, which was probably justified. “Please. This isn’t real, none of this is real! I know you've heard this all before but Chris, we’ve been down here pressing this button for nothing. Nothing is going to happen! We've got our money on a pawn tonight."

Chris reluctantly agreed, persuaded by Brendon who didn't know how lovely he was. “But, first and formost we are getting Ronnie out of here. If something goes wrong, I am not being covered in his poo, especially now Patrick has retired from painting shit gold."

“Again. The legend grows." Brendon whispered to himself. He nodded, and Chris pulled him to his feet. He was ready for the showdown.

Ronnie was still seated on the toilet, excited that his poo was beginning to harden up. His facial expression was nothing short of disturbing, as was his delightfully apt rendition of Let Yourself Go.

“Uhm. Okay, that’s nice Ronnie, but we've gotta get you out. So pull up your pants and move on out.” Brendon felt like he was speaking to a child and with Ronnie's little face burning for love, he had to resist the urge to laugh.

“Oh, do you need the toilet? Oh god! I’ve been on here for days and neon nights.You guys’d have to be constipated by now. You need to…” Ronnie began

“Just get outta the hatch Ronnie” Chris sighed.Cast out into the night, Ronnie stood and pulled up his pants, washed his hands and left. The stench that assaulted their noses as he walked past made them want to run for cover, though it was not quite as sickening as the possibilities forthcoming. They wouldn't escape the second attack.

Chris and Brendon headed for the computer room, Brendon was calm, firmly stuck in his belief that he was right, having gotten all confident recently. Brendon Urie was never wrong! Never! Except for now, he was lost and doubted he'd ever find his way back home. He could feel the cracks in his spirit starting to bust.

“Close the doors Chris!” Brendon ordered. "Haven't you heard my song?"  
****  
Chris woke up, feeling naked, to the sound of the alarm going off, and wondered why his partner had failed to press it. He jumped from his bunk and ran to the computer. 

He panicked slightly as he entered the numbers, with only 42 seconds left on the clock. Hieroglyphs appeared, but then the clock flashed back to 108. 

Chris was still wondering where his partner was, looking around the room. He missed him now that he was gone.

The only thing that caught his attention, was the machine that had been moved out of the way, to reveal a hole in the ground. Beside it was a discarded beer bottle. Chris sighed and walked over the hole, and lowered himself into it. There was nothing quite like taking chances on a hot night.

Once the dust had settled and his eyes were clear, he noted that he was in a very narrow hallway, a light blinking at the end of it. He moved toward the light, not able to blink back to let it know. 

Lying by the source of the light was Gerard, looking inebriated, lack of makeup revealing a sweet baby face, innocent and young. He held a chunky, bronze key which dangled from a necklace. His eyes looked up into Chris’s, trying to communicate something Chris couldn’t quite decipher. It was a language he didn't speak and nothing was really making any sense at all.

His eyes fell on the source of the light, a keyhole in the ground with a bright yellow and black sign announcing ‘Caution: System Termination.‘ 

“I couldn’ do it Chris.” Gerard slurred. “I jus’ couldn’ do it” His eager eyes still tried to express something. “I coulda ended it all. Alla this. No more. Over. Jus’ one turna this key, and this- this hell- is done. But I jus’ can’t do it Chris.” He was more intoxicated than Chris had expected.

"Come on Gerard, pace yourself for me. What do you mean?” He questioned simply, standing there with sweat on his skin cursing this American idiot.

“This key… I turn it and all this over. Under here… The electromagnetism. Bam. Gone, or I dunno. But it ends. No more pressin’ the goddamn button.Everyone will be lost, but the battle will be won.“  
Chris reached to take the key from him, not wanting to be a part of this redneck agenda, but Gerard pulled it away.

“Nuh uh Chrissy boy. No you don’t. You ain’t havin’ it. No one is turnin’ that key.”

“I wasn’t going to turn it Gerard. Come on, just get up. You need to come and get cleaned up.” Gerard stumbled to his feet. He wandered to the left, almost crashing in to the wall. Chris guided him down the hallway, at the same time surreptitiously taking the key from Gerard’s pocket and placing it in his own.  
* * * *  
Chris connected a red wire and a blue wire. An alarm sounded and the doors came down, though the clock stayed as it was, displaying 23 minutes.

He sat beside Brendon, hand in pocket, fingers moving around the key. He was scared he may have to use it, and hoping he wouldn’t. 

“Chris, who was your partner?” Brendon asked randomly.

“Uhh… Gerard.”

“Gerard…”

“Gerard Way.”

“Like, My Chemical Romance’s Gerard Way?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know Brendon, okay? I just don't know now. He went out and didn’t come back! I shouldn’t of let him go alone.I swore I'd never let him go.”

He began to look at a pile of paper he had found under the desk, not quite sure what he wanted to find. Most of it seemed to be random numbers, possibly times, and the words System Error repeated over and over. He kept looking through it.  
* * * *  
Metal flew toward the left side of the room. Anything with any metal just crossed the room of it’s own accord as the alarms sounded.

Chris observed it all move before realising he needed to press the button to rectify the situation.  
* * * *  
“What day did your plane crash Brendon?”

“July the twenty second.”

Chris looked down at the numbers, and found one of interest 22/8/13 followed by an entire row of System Error. He realised this was the day he had neglected to push button. He gulped. This situation was taking it's toll and he considered just leaving without Brendon.

“I think I crashed your plane!”

The clock on the wall was a tickin’ and Chris began to scream, not wanting to forget how his own voice sounded. With only 20 seconds left he panicked, in a state of mass hysteria.  
* * * *  
No one answered Billie Joe. He stepped back and watched as Dave, a practised Catholic, crossed himself upon striking a match and lit the wire. He was neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it.

“We need to move back Dave… This is a really small space!”  
Dave didn’t move.

“Oh Holy shit!” He said and ran for his life. At the same time, the dynamite exploded,the impact knocking him forward on to his face. He could feel the heat and see the light. He wasn’t sure where Dave had ended up, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, the guy was going to bring himself down.

He sat up, probably three minutes later, still dazed and unable to hear anything besides a high pitched ringing. He was surrounded by a cloud of dust, and he coughed as he breathed it in, not used to choking on anything bigger than an alibi.

He tried to get up and find Dave, or whatever was left of him.  
* * * *

“You can’t do this! You have to stop it! You’re gonna kill us all Brendon!” Chris screamed, hands on his head, clearly overwhelmed by his own paranoia. Brendon, who begged to dream and differ looked him in the eye, with an expression that told him nothing was going to change and there was nowhere left to run.

Chris ran to the wires and connected them once more right as the red lights and alarms began for the final time. The doors went up and he ran under one at a sprint and left Brendon alone. As he left Brendon screamed “You had better bring it back down, and bring it back down tonight.This means nothing! All of it!”

He ran to the room with bookshelves lining the walls and found his elephant head. Well, one of them. This was one he had never worn. He had wanted it to be the last thing on his head before he died, and he felt certain he was standing on the verge of the end. He picked it up and turned it upside down. A white slip of paper inside caught his eye.

He pulled it out and unfolded it.

 

It read:

Dear Chris,  
I put this in the place I felt certain you would find it. In your elephant head you’re saving for your final moments.

The day you left on that boat, I began to write a break up song, another one, because I felt certain it was the end. I know you were trouble when you walked in, but those elephant heads are attractive 

We were only young when I first saw you, and right away I knew it was a love story. 

The point is, I don’t think we’ll see each other again. I’d wait, but I feel it would only be painful for both of us. 

We only need to survive is one person who truly loves us, but that one person can’t be me. We are never ever ever getting back together. 

Taylor Swift

Chris cried as he read this, liking the way his tears tasted. He screamed, and threw things across the room, devastated that the love he had cradled was wearing thin. He knocked over all the bookshelves and left books strewn across the floor. He sunk down and cried to himself, feeling as though his heart was a prison and Taylor was making conjugal visits. He couldn’t do this for long however. He put his elephant head on, leaving the note on the floor, and ran back into the computer room. 

He pushed the the machine out of the way before Brendon could speak to him and descended into the hole. “See you in another life Brotha.” He said in his broad irish accent.

Brendon was standing as the hatch shook, looking at one of the open doors, which made him nervous sometimes, when he realised it had been replaced by a wall of smoke.

Then, a tall, hunched person stepped out of the indian dust. Dave. Bloodied, dirt covered, poor and tired but more than this, he was still Dave.

Dave saw Brendon, eyes wide with fear and shock setting in.

“I was wrong.” He said, this time not whispering, speaking, in fact, like a gentleman.  
* * * *  
Chris was scared. More scared than he had ever been. He had never felt his heart beating so fast, it wasn't beating like it used to, or seen sweat pour so rapidly from him. Though the sign above the key hole was gone, pulled by magnets to the wall much like every other metal object in the vicinity, everything else was exactly as he remembered.

He placed the key into the hole, his arms shaking. His whole body shaking in fact. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. 

‘All we need to survive is one person who truly loves us.’ He turned the key.

And then, all there was was white.  
* * * *  
Brandon, Patrick and Pete were still on their knees down on the dock, where it was hot enough to melt a Popsicle, listening to Obama questioning Katy Perry about the whereabouts of Ryan. 

“Where is he Katy?

“I don’t know sir!” She shrugged and whipped cream squirted from her leopard print bikini top.

Pete laughed.

“What’s so funny Mr Wentz?” Obama asked seriously, causing Pete to laugh again.

“You’re all wondering where he is, and we all know exactly where he is”

“And where is that?”

“Why exactly would I tell you Barrack?” Pete smirked, but the realisation that this man was immensely dangerous felt just like a dagger buried deep in his back.

“Because, I have your… boy? Whatever it is you’re classifying him as.” Obama rolled his eyes.

“You won’t touch him. You obviously want us alive to fulfil whatever destiny you have anticipated for us"

“I didn’t say I was going to kill him Mr Wentz. There are things worse than death.” He said as he nodded toward the man wearing a badge that said Norman standing behind Brandon, who quickly produced a knife. He ran it quickly across Brandon’s cheek, causing him to whimper. He was obviously trying not to let himself scream, but he was about as useless as a deaf mute leading a choir. Blood seeped out of the wound fast.

“Do not touch him again!” Pete screamed desperately.

“Then where is he Wentz?” One of the men asked, with an accompanying bray of maniacal laughter.

“He’s on the bottom of the ocean…” The knife moved quickly back to Brandon’s face. “We didn’t kill him! There was a disturbance on the ocean side. Our boat broke. I did the best I could but there was nothing I could do! Can you please cut that cord. My hands are cold."

The knife was pulled away.

Obama turned to Katy. “And when is Nicki going to come back? And remember, I don't have the time to listen to you whine."

Katy stuttered…  
It was Patrick who chimed in this time. “Nicki Minaj? Ahaha, Katy, you told him she was still alive? Nah, we beat the shit out of that ass when you took Ryan. I'm an ass dealer so I know what I'm doing."

Before anyone could say anything, a loud sound came from across the island and a too bright white light filled the sky. Everyone covered their ears and closed their eyes, not able to see a thing, wondering if anyone else had seen the lights.

Those down on the beach were having the same problem. White light beams suddenly blinded them all, and were gone just moments later.

The next morning, Billie Joe came wandering, bleeding from wounds all over his body, down on to the beach.

“Billie!” Trè called out excitedly! Melodramatic fool!

“Where’s Brendon and Dave Billie?” Spencer yelled.

“They haven’t come back yet?” Billie Joe asked, feeling vaguely irritated.

Tre and Spencer shook their heads.  
* * * *  
Brendon opened his eyes somewhere in the forest. The first thing he noticed was the pain. He was sore and stiff. Then he realised how surprised he was to be alive.

The hatch had… What had the hatch done? How did he even get here? He remembered white light. Very bright light. Then, nothing.

Yet here he was, lying in the grass.

He sat up, looking around. He saw a seemingly naked, or at least under-clothed, Chris running through the jungle and tried his best to call out to him but found himself unable to succeed.

He stood up, and only walked two steps before finding the Jesus stick laying on the ground. He touched his fingers to the tip and felt liquid. He looked at his fingers, finding blood.

He walked back to the beach, everyone staring as he silently strode to his camp. He ripped his tent made of tarps and sticks apart, while everyone asked what he was doing.

He gathered all the sticks and walks with some purpose, or lack thereof, to a structure of large sticks that someone had begun to build but never finished.

In the centre of it, he placed his own sticks and said a prayer before taking some from the building,causing it to bend but not break.

Billie Joe, in his normal agitated fashion, stormed over to Brendon.

“So what? You’re going to come back after the hatch did whatever it did, and act like it’s all normal? You aren’t even going to speak to anyone?” He was angry, but his eyeliner still managed to look perfect. Anger proof Eyeliner?

Brendon tried to speak and then remembered he couldn’t. He pointed to his throat then his mouth trying to tell Billie Joe.

“You're mute?”

He nodded and then tried to mime something to him. He pointed to his mouth then at Billie.

“You need to speak to...me?” Brendon shook his head and pointed at the the sand. “You need to talk to the sand?” Billie Joe sounded suitably confused. Brendon pointed to the tree. “The tree? Oh, I’ve heard trees are fantastic conversationalists.” Billie Joe rolled his eyes, exasperated.

Brendon drew a circle in the sand and pointed to it!

“The island! You need to talk to the island. Wait, that doesn’t make sense…” Brendon shrugged and went back to building his hut.

Billie went to find a pen and paper.

When he returned, the hut was finished and a fire burned inside. He gave Brendon the pen and paper. Brendon wrote fast, but it was still legible to a certain extent.

“Sweat lodge. I need u 2 stand guard.” It read. Was he paranoid? Stoned?

“Uh huh. Whatever.” He shook his head as Brendon took off his shirt, placed a black velvet top hat on his head and went into his little man cave. He hadn’t been able to look past the sweat and hence, he had built a sweat lodge.

Brendon sat by his fire and tipped a bottle of water over it. It steamed up, and he soon found himself very hot to the touch.

Just as he expected, a person appeared beside him. He looked up at the person, only to find Bono standing beside him, the man who taught him everything he knew. He would’ve greeted him but he knew it was only the island taking Bono’s form, and besides, he couldn’t speak.

“Hello Brendon. You’re going to need this.” He pointed to a wheelchair that had appeared where the fire was just seconds earlier.

He blinked and found himself in the airport he had taken off from weeks earlier. He was sitting in the uncomfortable wheelchair with Bono pushing him around and suffering a bout of vertigo.

“One of these people needs your help Brendon. You need to find them.”

The first person he saw was Brandon. Still unable to speak, he pointed at him frantically.

“No, I think Mr Soul and Romance is fine.” Bono laughed, almost teasing.

The next person to be spotted was Ryan, or more accurately, his cheeks. Though his pointing was less enthusiastic this time, he pointed none the less. “No one can help him.” Bono said simply.

Patrick was standing at the ticket desk, suitcase behind him. Brendon glanced in his direction. “No, still haven’t found what you’re looking for yet.”

He watched an angsty Billie Joe coming down the escalator.  
“Nope, I think Billie Joe’s got it.”

Next, he saw Pete, Spencer and Tre going through customs, Obama scanning their things.  
“No, there’s nothing you can do for them, not yet.”

Then, his eyes fell on Crazy Haired Dave, and at that moment, the vision ended abruptly.  
* * * *  
Brendon jumped out of the steam lodge panting, as his top hat flew from his head.

“What’d you see?” 

“I have to go save Dave.” Brendon said, finally able to speak.

“What happened in there?”

“I saw Bono. We have to save Dave. And rock n roll."

“From what exactly?”

“I don’t know. His old ways maybe?"

Brendon walked off, heading back toward the place where he had awoken earlier. He walked right past the Jesus stick despite it's faint neon glow.

Billie Joe had followed this far, and soon they found themselves standing in front of a massive hole in the ground.

It was deep to the point that the bottom wasn’t even in sight, and it was entirely empty. A place where thoughts could bloom.

“What happened here?” Billie Joe whispered, something he regretted immediately, having given himself the creeps.

"We will learn the answer to that in time. Well, folks, we sure are in for a show tonight, here’s the sight of the great Dharma Hatch Implosion.” Brendon said cheerfully. Then, he moved on, following a trail of flattened grass.

“He’s been dragged.” Brendon said randomly, his usual habit of losing trains of thought was evident.

“By what?”

Brendon picked a small bit of white fluff off a bush. "Well it was either Julian Assange or a Polar bear.”

“Patrick killed the polar bear!”

“Patrick killed a polar bear, and possibly a few DJs." Brendon stated before continuing to walk, feeling as though he just couldn't pull it any longer

He found another pile of fluff, this time stained red from Dave’s blood. They walked in silence until the trail ended in front of a cave made from vines. Brendon stopped and pulled his brown bag off his bare back which the sun immediately started beating down upon. He unzipped it and extracted a bottle of hairspray.

“I hate to inform you but…” Billie Joe began irritably.

“It’s not for us.” Brendon cut him off. He didn't want to lose his nerve. That would be unnerving.

He pulled a phone from his bag, one that still had some charge left, and turned it’s torch on.

“Stay where I can see you!” He said to Billie Joe who was fast becoming a basket case.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

“Keep your mouth shut!.” Brendon ordered before heading into the cave.

It was dim inside, and Brendon’s torch barely helped. He couldn’t see very far in front of him, and that bothered him somewhat. He'd been in the dark for a while now but continued on anyway determined to find Dave and get him out of here.

He continued to venture into the cave, fluff lining the ground. Not very far in, a white figure suddenly loomed in front of him, and he knew it was the polar bear. He opened the hair spray, aimed and sprayed it at the polar bear. This created a scent more pungent than Brendon’s own, attracting the polar bear to it rather than Brendon or Dave.

Dave was out cold, ripped to pieces, and Brendon couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He picked him up, and awkwardly slung him over his shoulder. He tried to run, but found himself waddling with some sort of speed out of the cave, polar bear still distracted.

Brendon put Dave down at the entrance of the cave and beckoned for Billie Joe, who had been enthusiastically yelling "Bombs Away! "a misguided, but well intentioned cheerleader, to help lift him up. Together, they hauled him as far away from the cave as they could manage,grabbing his wrist and directing him where to go and setting him down by a tree when their feet stumbled and they could no longer walk.

Billie Joe went to find them some food while Brendon waited to see if Dave would wake up.  
Dave’s eyes opened a few minutes later and he looked Brendon in the eyes, a dead serious expression on his face and said “I need a new stick.”


End file.
